


unaware i'm tearing you asunder

by mariewinter



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariewinter/pseuds/mariewinter
Summary: There is a phrase the humans have: like a deer in the headlights. That is what Lena looks like now, clutching the sheets to her chest, wide-eyed and shocked.Or: Lena and Rhea sleep together, talk in the morning, and Rhea is not nearly as awful as she could be. Yet.





	unaware i'm tearing you asunder

**Author's Note:**

> otp tbh

You don't think you've seen anything nearly quite as beautiful as Lena Luthor naked and sleeping, tangled up in silken sheets. It nearly makes you regret what you have to do further down the line; the keyword being _nearly._ When she wakes, it's with a sleepy sigh and a slow fluttering of her eyes, and when her gaze lands on you – at the foot of the bed, sitting, reading a book with glasses perched on your nose and a cup of coffee in your hand – she freezes.

There is a phrase the humans have: like a deer in the headlights. That is what Lena looks like now, clutching the sheets to her chest, wide-eyed and shocked. She shouldn't be; neither of you had even had anything to drink before you tumbled into bed together, lips roaming and hands caressing. Perhaps she had thought it was nothing more than a dream. The thought is ridiculous enough for you to smile, and you hold out the cup expectantly. “For you. I do hope I got it right – three sugars and lots of milk, yes?”

“Yes,” Lena repeats, voice dull with surprise, as she folds her hands around the cup and sits up, still covering herself as though you hadn't seen everything there was to see just last night.

“Don't do that,” you reprimand gently, and she drops her hand as though burned – ever-obedient, your darling new friend. Your darling new _tool._ (Again, you feel something that might turn into something the tiniest bit like guilt if you had any of the patience for such an emotion, so instead of forcibly stifling it you let it linger, and sure enough, it fades all on its own.) “You are _beautiful,_ my dear. You don't have to hide yourself from me. Plus,” you add, leaning in, “I've already seen you, remember?”

She turns pink, the same color of her lips; pink on ivory skin, pitch hair on porcelain flesh, the loveliest of contrasts that you find as appealing as the rest of her. “Yes, well—ah, I...well.” She stammers a moment longer, and then falls silent and sips her coffee, looking anywhere but at you.

It's somewhat endearing. The sheets pool, forgotten and abandoned, around her hips; bunched up around her legs so that her feet, toes painted a bright red, peer out from beneath. You reach out to pat her ankle, fingers squeezing gently, and you look nowhere but her face though the rest of her calls you to look down and down and down. “You do not...regret it, do you?” The hesitation in your voice is true; after all, if she did regret it, then it might very well prove to be a mistake in the long run. She might be more uncomfortable around you, more reluctant to continue helping, and it would take longer and longer – and perhaps, you think, you shouldn't have submitted to the urges that overtook you last night. You hadn't known it might turn out like this. Not then.

“No,” she blurts hastily, and her cheeks redden even further. “No,” she says again, slower this time alongside a shake of her head, “Of course not. I just...” You watch the undulation of her throat as she swallows, nervous. Finally, she straightens as though putting on some invisible armor, closing it tight around herself; holding her shoulders back, her head high, her back straight. You wonder how many times she's practiced that in the mirror, getting it just right, because she is a Luthor and Luthors are meant for nothing but perfection, even in things as simple as posture.

“You just?” You encourage the words to come, gentle, sweeping your fingers along the underside of her ankle in idle circles. She shivers, and you feel the goosebumps rise on her skin. Your smile widens.

“I was wondering if _you_ might regret it, is all.”

“Oh.” Frowning, you crawl forward over the bed until you're sitting against the headboard next to her, kicking off the heels on the way, folding your legs underneath yourself. Your fingers dance over her soft, pale skin, never crossing near to her chest; they linger instead on her shoulder, or her collarbone, and then her hair, stroking. “No. Of course not, Lena. I was the one who started it, after all, wasn't I?”

Lena smiles, wry and lackluster. “People who start things usually do not want to finish them.”

“And do you think I am one of those people?”

Lena watches you for a moment, and then slowly shakes her head. “No. I'm...sorry.”

You cup her cheek, frame her jaw with your fingers, lean in to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. You wonder why she leans in; is it because she longs for the maternal touch, or does she desire the affection from before, from last night, with your fingers between her thighs and your mouth on her neck? It must be confusing for her. Poor girl. You tsk, lightly bumping your forehead against her temple. “You do not have to apologize for anything, Lena. I'm glad you don't regret it. I would never forgive myself.”

She swallows again. “You said—I mean, I didn't know that you...were interested. You had a husband.”

You do not understand, at first. “The keyword being _had,_ dear. I like you.” Truth. “And...my husband's death was a long time ago.” Lie.

Lena's mouth opens, shuts, opens again. “No, I meant—women. I did not know you liked _women._ ”

“Why wouldn't I?” you ask with a laugh, fingers trailing through her hair, gathering up silken strands and winding them up around your fingertips. It's as soft like silk as the rest of her. “Women are beautiful; you especially.”

Lena breathes something that's nearly a giggle. “I—no, it's just...”

She gestures, flourishes her hands, and it means nothing to you – finally, though, it clicks. “Aha. I had forgotten humans had problems with their sexualities.”

For some reason, that makes Lena laugh – long, loud and hard. “I suppose it isn't the same...where you come from?”

“No, not at all. I haven't slept with many women before – but then, I haven't slept with many men, either. Before my husband died, there was very few. And after, there was...none. And now—“

“And now there's me.” You watch her teeth sink against her bottom lip. More nervous habits. This girl has quite a lot of them. You can't help but find it charming. “Do I hold up to your standards?”

“No,” you say, watch something in her eyes fall, “You _transcend_ them.”

That glow, that brightness comes back – tenfold, twice over, like countless shimmering stars in her eyes and scrawling out constellations on her face, and her smile is bright and pearly even when she blushes. Especially when, even. You smile right back, patting her hand. “Thank you,” she says, quiet and soft, shy.

“No,” you say, stroking her cheek, “Thank _you._ ”

There is a moment wherein you two simply watch eachother; not speaking, not so much as blinking, only looking. Her eyes roam over you as though undressing you all over again, but it is gentle, less passionate than the night before, less _everything_ than the night before but not in a way that suggests it _is_ less. She watches you with something that borders on fascination, on longing, and tracks the movement of your tongue over your bottom lip.

You breathe a laugh, squeeze her thigh over the sheets, and crawl from the bed. “Drink your coffee, dear, and then go and take a shower. We have work to do, remember?”

“Yes,” she says distractedly, “Work to do. Do you want to join me?”

“I already took a shower,” you say, eyes twinkling with amusement. She raises an eyebrow expectantly, and you sigh dramatically, shedding your jacket and the shoes you just put back on as you head for the bathroom door. “Oh, fine. Just this once, you understand?”

“Just this once,” she repeats, in a way that suggests it will never be 'just this once'. You laugh and laugh even as you climb under the jets of water, even as she wraps her arms – too slow and careful and hesitant – around you and leans in to kiss you.

_Yes,_ you think – it really is a shame that this will have to end, eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> lena's mommy issues and the toxic (and completely canonical don't argue with me) relationship between rhea & lena is what i LIVE FOR thanks


End file.
